All the Night and A Thousand Miles
by Cafinatedangel13
Summary: This was inspired by the many dissatisfied reviews I've read about Scooby Doo and the Curse of the Lake Monster concerning Shaggy and Velma's lack of chemistry, and the possibility that she lied.


The room was dark, he could tell by the field of pitchy blackness left uninterrupted behind his eyelids, and a soft breeze blew gently from the open window on the opposite wall, bringing with it the freshness of the lake and a comfortable feeling of openness indoors. From the bed below his Scooby's soft, contented puppy-snores and occasional rustling as he chased after dreams broke up the monotonous quiet of the night in a familiar rhythm. Normally such a combination of comfort and company would have easily lulled Shaggy into a peaceful slumber as well, but tonight sleep refused to find him, leaving him to toss and turn in exhaustion so profound his body no longer recognized the feeling as he searched for it instead.

He groaned quietly in frustration as he flipped himself over (again) to lie on his back, tangling the sheets in a cocoon around him. His eyes squeezed tightly shut in an exaggerated effort to keep them closed as he stretched his too tall, gangly body from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes and tried to relax. His fingers combed absentmindedly through his hair, tugging slightly at the mess of knots and curls they found there as he sighed in defeat and allowed his tired eyes to open.

Soft shadows painted the ceiling in varying shades of humble darkness from deep, inky black all the way to quiet gray over white. Moonlight filtered in through the window bathing the room with a silvery glow...

Shaggy groaned again and banged his head against the mattress, wishing the pillow that muffled the sound was a table top or a wall to make the quiet _thud_ more satisfying and provide a stronger feeling from the impact. He _knew_ he shouldn't have opened his eyes.

Shaggy wasn't usually one to dwell, he had always been a glass-is-half-full type and generally saw the brighter sides of life, but even his innocently high spirits couldn't cope with the ripping sensation in his chest and the sharp sinking of his gut.

No chemistry.

If that were true, then it was distinctly one-sided because Shaggy had felt his heart speed up as his lips pressed gently against hers. Their movements weren't quite in sync, were awkward and clumsy with inexperience, but the gentle pressure against his mouth had sent a spike of unfamiliar pleasure through him. A sudden spark set his blood aflame and his stomach had leapt into his throat at the wonderfully disorienting, dizzy feeling.

He had liked the weight of her arms around his neck, liked the sudden tug that pressed his mouth more firmly against hers when her legs seemed to give-way beneath her and could no longer hold her upright. He had wanted to hold her tighter against him so she wouldn't have to worry about that anymore, to minimize the space between them, to run his fingers through that adorable cap of black silk and increase the pressure where his mouth met hers.

But, beneath his giddiness and swelling affections, he had felt it when she stopped.

Her abrupt lack of response had stung and confused him as he tried to gage what she was feeling. And then confusion had steeped in about his own feelings; the intensity and clarity were suddenly lost beneath a haze of murkiness and uncertainty. Without warning he was no longer sure if he had really felt anything at all, or if he had simply wanted to so badly he tricked himself into believing he had. So he had opened his eyes and pulled away.

No chemistry, she'd said. The pleasure, the fire, she hadn't felt any of that. And because Shaggy, always so eager to please, couldn't work out his own hurt and confusion, he had said he hadn't either...

The muffled _tap tap_ of knuckles against the door whispered through the room, scattering his thoughts as the images of that moment in the caves melted back into shadows on the ceiling. It was a careful, timid sound that he was sure he wouldn't have heard at all had he not been so wide awake already. He briefly considered ignoring it and willing himself to sleep, but curiosity mingled with the weight of his lie and the pain of rejection; sleep had never been an option tonight. Besides, the list of people outside his door at this hour was short, only three names long, and the day, while technically ending on a positive note, had been rough on all of them.

He untangled himself as quickly and quietly as possible, wincing slightly at the light _thud_ he made as he slipped from his bed to the floor and glancing guiltily at Scooby who merely turned over in his sleep. Quick but careful steps carried him across the room, and he managed to open the door amazingly, for him at least, with no further incidents.

"Velma," he whispered around the collection of emotions provoked by being confronted with object of his restless thoughts. Surprise was there, as were hurt and confusion, but they were accompanied by the familiar sense of friendship and security that he had come to associate with the all of the gang as well as a new, much more focused feeling of profound longing he wasn't quite sure what to do with.

Her hair was tasseled and sticking up in odd places as if the night had not been treating her any better than it was treating him. Her fingers played nervously with the baggy sleeves of her oversized orange sleeping shirt, and she seemed to be taking an unnatural interest in her bare feet.

He stepped outside, carefully pulling the door closed behind him to avoid waking Scooby (_Somebody_ should get some sleep tonight.) and quickly fixed his features into his best goofy smile pleased to find that the gesture was sincere. The hurt and confusion had not faded, but these unfamiliar negative emotions lurked safely beneath the warmer haze of the friendship they shared along with this new more intense pleasure he had only just begun to explore. He was relieved to find that their bond was indeed stronger than his hurt feelings.

"Like hey, V. What's got you out so late?" he greeted softly and playfully waited for the knee-jerk reaction that would have her correcting his technically incorrect use of the word 'late'. The hour had slipped passed late and into early by the time they had made back onto the club grounds, and that had been hours ago.

His smile faded somewhat when the expected response was not forthcoming and melted into a concerned frown as he studied his brilliant friend more carefully. She seemed disoriented and tense. The slight movements of her fingers were nervous and fidgety and her entire posture, carefully averted eyes, hunched shoulders, elbows pinned tightly to her sides, screamed uncertainty. Now that he was paying attention, her current attire was equally disconcerting. So close to the lake the nights tended to be mild, and Shaggy couldn't imagine the baggy shirt that danced around her knees provided much comfort from the slight chill. She wasn't even wearing shoes.

"Velma?" The sound of her name ended her inspection of her feet and her eyes snapped up to meet his. The paleness of her face worried him, a sallowy white color made all the more prominent by her naturally tinted complexion and the onyx curtain of her bangs. Her pupils were dilated, overtaking the dark brown of her irises, and her eyes were wide, wide, _wide_ behind the thick frames of her glasses. The expression was familiar but alien when coupled with these features. Velma had been frightened before, of course. But never so obviously and _never_ to the point where she could no longer think. Now she looked like a deer, skittish and wild-eyed but too terrified to move.

"I told you a falsehood," spilled from her mouth in a panicky rush, words clattered and slamming into each other in their haste for existence, "At least I believe I may have."

And then it seemed a floodgate had opened and there was no controlling the verbal river that crashed over its weakened walls.

"I'd been sharing my body with a foreign essence for days. A lack of emotional equilibrium is only to expected after-"

"Wh-" he tried to break in, to slow the flood and reassure her, to coax the root of the problem out of the thick, cloying shell of technicalities and words that meant nothing to him. But there was no pause, no breath.

"-the eradication of such a parasite, especially with such a minimal recovery period," she rambled.

"Vel-" he tried again, but again she ploughed right over him as if the words had reached a critical pressure inside her and now spewed forth in all directions in their eagerness to be heard.

"Perhaps the reclamation to my own flesh, or the euphoria of victory-"

"Velma!" he punctuated the exclamation with a sharp shake of her shoulders that sent the black halo that always framed her face dancing about her eyes in a haze of ink and silk. He grinned apologetically as he resisted the unfamiliar urge to brush the loose strands away and took advantage of the sudden pause, "Like slow down, V. Relax. _Breathe_. Like, I really do love to listen to you talk smart and all, but, like, I never understand a word of it."

He relaxed his grip on her shoulders and straightened as she followed his advice, pulling in a long, slow breath so deep her shoulders shuddered. "I...lied." The word sounded strange spoken in the familiar tones and harmonies of her voice and obviously tasted sour, foreign on her tongue. But it was real, and it mattered. "I just...I got scared."

Seconds matured into minutes that trudged sluggishly on towards daylight, all the night and a thousand miles packed into the foot of space between them. Words danced behind her eyes, brown so dark they were nearly black and deep enough for him to get lost in, sounds and phrases considered and discarded as she sifted through her extensive vocabulary, scrambling to fill the silence with something he could understand.

Shaggy watched the words form behind her eyes and die at her lips, patiently waiting for her to bring her thoughts closer to his levels of complexity, but really, what else was there to say? Possession was a disturbing concept in theory alone, and Shaggy had no idea what was it like to be...invaded in that way. To have one's own body rebel and answer the whims of another, to be trapped inside familiar flesh with no control, no voice. Such an experience would leave anyone feeling confused and vulnerable. How was brilliant, practical Velma, always prepared and never confused, expected to begin to deal with such aftermath?

"I got scared," she repeated, face crumbling with the confession and eyes rekindling their interest in her feet as if the truth were a poor excuse for her actions. But Shaggy knew about being scared.

His hand found hers, an increasingly famiiar gesture made slightly more intiment by the soft caress of his thumb along her knuckles as his fingers explored the smooth expance of her palm. Slow, deliberate strokes followed the outline of each finger as he gently kneaded the soft flesh, enjoying the way the intricate bones and muscles responded to his attentions, jumping and flexing beneath her skin.

His voice was faint, almost lost against the quiet echo of the lake and the whisper of the breeze. But it drew her eyes to find his.

And all the night and a thousand miles disappeared between them.

"_By the light_ _of the silvery moon_

_I want to spoon_

_To my honey I'll croon love's tune._

_Honey moon, keep a-shinin' in June,_

_Your silvery beams will bring love's dreams_

_We'll be cuddling soon_

_By the silvery moon."_


End file.
